Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (13 page)

“
We
are babes in the woods?” he asked with sardonic amusement.

“In comparison, yes.”

“And here I thought we were considered hardened bastards.”

“Aren’t you cute. Try sleeping with a drug dealer.”

“No thanks.”

“Good call.” Lena Wasson studied his profile. “So what is this?”

“I have a tip about Fielding, the cop who was shot in his bed.”

“And you thought you’d share it with me. Thanks. Last I checked, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about Fielding.” She pulled down the passenger-side visor and checked her makeup in the lighted mirror.

“Such language from a lady. Word has it that Fielding was a zealous guy, right? I’ve been with vice for five years and he was pretty much hell on prostitution. Very high arrest record. Since we are on the subject of drug dealers, any of the girls that use complain about him confiscating their stashes during an arrest?”

“What stashes?” Lena blinked her eyes in mock innocence.

“Come on. I know he never brought you in, but have you heard anything?”

Patience tended to be a true virtue when dealing with the less than virtuous. It was an odd benefit of his notoriety that having crossed the line himself and been under an internal affairs investigation gained him some respect on the street. He wasn’t afraid to take matters a little too far … stretch the law a little, and it put him at least a little on the other side.

Fine, he’d roll with that if it helped him get information. Most of his informants were at least a little afraid of him.

“Are you going to beat me if I say I do but won’t tell?” Lena gave him another flash of leg. “Please say yes.”

“Have you?” He liked the show, but needed the answer a lot more. Besides, she was just kidding. Even in her tight-fitting clothes, he suspected she was armed.

“Like what specifically?” Her tone was sulky, her spiky lashes lowered. “I know you’re paying, but I only have an hour. You’re going to need to drop me off downtown at the Marriott. There’s a convention this week there and I have a date.”

“Is that the new term for it? I’m so behind the times.”

“Call it what you want. I’m calling it a date in front of a cop, okay?”

He braked for a light and glanced over. Without the drugs and a profession that was not conducive to a healthy lifestyle, she might even have been beautiful. Some things in life were just a damned pity. “I’m not asking about you, Lena, so relax. If you want put your hard-earned money up your nose, I am not going to say a word about it. All I want is to find out if there is any connection between Fielding and drugs. Was he pushing any pimp about supplying his girls?”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

He caught it, the slight hesitation. “Anything? You sure?”

The lift of her shoulders in a shrug was belied by the sudden tension in her body. “I’m sure that I don’t have any definite information that can help you.”

“Indefinite information is okay. Believe it or not, I can follow a lead.” The light changed and he pulled out into the intersection, signaling for a street that would take them close to the hotel she wanted, but he had no intention of dropping her off until he had at least something. He could ask a lot of questions in an hour, and she was right, he was paying for her time out of his own pocket.

“I can’t have anything leading back to me.”

“Goes without saying.” His tone was absolutely neutral. “Obviously you’ve made some sort of connection. Talk to me. Have we made a leap from pimp to dealer now? I’m not trying to get you in trouble, Lena. Quite the opposite. When I am doing my job effectively, I keep people alive by taking killers off the streets.”

“Why can’t you just ask for a blow job instead,” she muttered darkly, tapping a long red fingernail on her thigh. “Those guys are a lot easier to deal with.”

He muffled a laugh, because he was fairly sure that was true in a way he didn’t even want to imagine. “I need a name.”

“These are not understanding people. Come on. Just let me out anywhere. It’s a pretty nice night. I can walk.” Her hand moved to the door.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he was pulling over right now. Carl said in measured tones, “I am not all that understanding myself. A name?”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t want to do this. Usually you’re just shaking down the small guys. Everyone thinks you’re just a regular of mine. This—
this
—could be serious shit.”

“On the street people think I pay you for sex? I’m offended.”

“Hey, I’m expensive. But I mean it, serious shit.”

“Murder usually is. I want a name.”

Maybe it was the implacable tone of his voice, but she caved. “Angelo Terrance. He works for a certain family.”

It rang a bell … vaguely. “What certain family?”

“The Henleys. When you mentioned drugs and the dead cop, I made a connection. But who knows.”

“He’s killed a cop?”

“I never said that. There’s a bit of a rumor he’s being looked at by the DEA.”

The DEA. And Fielding had called an undercover DEA agent. Okay. A link.

“For what?”

“I don’t know exactly. Some questions are better left unasked IMHO.”

“IMHO?”

“In my humble opinion. Jesus, Lieutenant, don’t you play on the Internet?”

The answer was easy. “I don’t play at anything.”

“Yeah,” she said in response, sarcasm evident, “I get that impression. Maybe you should give me a call sometime and I can teach you how to do it. Just pull in right out front. I always enjoy my grand entrance. Everyone stares when I walk into a nice hotel, but I am pretty sure the advertising gets me new customers.”

Chapter 12

There was a well.

An old hole with crumbling rocks around it, lichen on the surface, and at one time there had been a winch for the bucket but it was long gone.

She could be there.

That was where he’d put the body.

He’d waited to look. Of course he had. It was the worst suspicion that anyone could possibly have of another human being, so he’d avoided it, shrank from it, and treated it like it was an unwelcome guest by giving it only the slightest bit of attention.

However, there was nothing a man could hide from forever.

A flashlight did no good. So on a crispy morning, with frost on the fallen leaves and the lake quiet, he’d taken a lantern and tied it to a long rope. He’d bought the piece at the hardware store, but it wasn’t expensive, and if it fell, he was not going to mourn the loss.

Down, down, down.

The walls were slimy, so there had to be water at the bottom, and he caught the glimmer just before the light hit the water.

Holding fast, he jerked a little, but the wick stayed lit.

Throat tightening, he bent to look …

*   *   *

Ellie loved her
house. River stone fireplace, hardwood floors, different levels … she’d never find anything in Milwaukee like it for even close to the price.

Not that it mattered, since she was moving in with Bryce.

A good decision? It seemed as if her mind was not quite made up when she walked through the door of her house, but then again, weighty matters in life were always a giant leap off a cliff. Or at least for her. Some people seemed to race to the finish line with a lot more ease.

The place had a faint odor of disuse, as if the air was slightly stale, and there was a thin layer of dust on the coffee table. The refrigerator was unplugged with the door propped open, and a sense of nostalgia hit her as she looked around. “I’m wondering if I should take it off the market.”

Bryce switched on a lamp. “Hedging your bets?”

The words were said too softly for the remark to be entirely a joke. She slipped her sweater off and tossed it over the back of a chair. “It would make a nice place to get away from the city now and then for us both. Nothing but woods around. Peace and quiet.”

“It’s a thought.” His voice was carefully neutral.

“Not too far from your parents’ cabin either. Might be nice to come up and not have to actually stay with them. Like what we are doing now with my grandfather even though he wanted us to stay. If we had I can guarantee I’d have the guest room and you’d have been sleeping on the couch.”

“I agree wholeheartedly that this is better then.” His smile was a flash of white teeth. “I still remember the first night I spent here. There are worse things than being stuck in a raging storm with a beautiful woman.”

A woman who just happened to be investigating him as the prime suspect in a series of disappearances at the time. Ellie still looked back on that night and mentally shook her head at herself. It had seemed like the right course, and she certainly had not intended on sleeping with him, but it had happened anyway. She’d been almost 100 percent sure he was innocent, but that meant there was a glimmer of a doubt.

Quite a leap of faith.

There was a pretty potent physical attraction between them. There had been from the first time they’d met, and she wondered often enough—maybe too often—if it didn’t skew her perception of their relationship.

Maybe staying at the house was not the best idea after all. It brought back the indecision of that first night and she really didn’t need that right after she’d agreed to move in with him. Oh, now she knew he wasn’t a murderer. He could be one of the most decent men she had ever met, but then again that also had always applied, in her mind, to her grandfather.

So she said lightly, “That really was quite a storm. Want to open that bottle of wine we bought? I’ll get the glasses. I think I left a few here because I don’t have as much space at the condo.” Ellie moved casually into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. “Will a juice glass work?”

“Fine with me.” Bryce took out a pocketknife that included a corkscrew and went to work on the cork in the bottle.

Moment passed
. Except she wasn’t convinced—and here she was the cop—that he hadn’t caught subtle nuances of the exchange. Maybe that was what she couldn’t get used to. That he could see it and not insist they talk about it.

In her world, the strict world of fact and enforced rules, when there was an issue, two people
talked
about it. Detective. Suspect. Investigator. Criminal. Witness.
All must talk
.

His world was kind of inviting. The let’s-pretend-it-isn’t-important world …

But no. She just couldn’t seem to not sweat the important stuff, however small or large it might be.

“Our relationship is freaking me out,” she admitted, picking up the bottle he’d set down on the counter and dashing Merlot into both glasses. “I like you. I really like you, I might even love you … don’t try and pin me down on that one, and yet, Bryce, I am terrified.”

“Might even love me? Let’s not have that.” His voice was tenderly amused.

“Shut up. Don’t tease me. I carry a weapon.” She sent him a lethal look.

He sat down on a bar stool next to the kitchen counter and looked unfazed. “I know. Detective MacIntosh: serial killers, no problem; long-term commitment, not so brave.”

“How can you be so … understanding?” She truly didn’t get it, which might be something she needed to discuss with Dr. Lukens at some point.

“Don’t sound annoyed. This entire argument is ridiculous.”

“I am just … mystified. There you go. A good word for it. Mystified.”

“Ellie, do I have a choice except to be understanding?”

He had a point. To a certain extent anyway. “You can always walk away.”

“Yeah, but I get hung up there. I don’t
want
to walk away.”

Were they really arguing over the issue of his patience? She inhaled through her nose, let it out slowly through her mouth, and then laughed. Then she deliberately put her elbows on the counter, facing him. “Here’s part of the issue. No matter how this all shakes out, I’m the bad guy. If it works it is because you tried hard enough for the both of us, and if it fails it is because I can’t claim the same thing.”

“Someone has said this to you, or is it your perception?”

“Jody,” she confessed before taking a drink of wine. Her older sister was ridiculously opinionated.

Bryce laughed. “I don’t want to accuse your sister of meddling, but sweetheart, your sister
meddles
with your life. You decide. If you want more time, that’s fine. Continue your lease. However, keep in mind that just because she has the suburban dream of two point something kids and a husband who is an insurance adjustor, it doesn’t mean you aren’t meant to travel a different path.”

He was right. Hands down.

“This is complicated,” she muttered before taking a drink from her glass, the thick rim not exactly ideal, but the wine tasted good.

“Love?” he said in reply, his gaze locked on hers. “Sometimes it really is. It’s when you think it is simple that you find yourself in real trouble.”

*   *   *

Jason was in
the middle of a dream. A prisoner in the moment, the roof seething with flames, his breath caught in his chest, his limbs immobile.

Been there. Done that.

Then he was free, there were swirling lights, and he could see Ellie’s face, pale and concerned, and suddenly someone pushed her away and sunk a needle into his arm.

He woke sweating, disoriented, and it took a few minutes before he realized that he was twisted awkwardly in the sheets and that was part of the reason he couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck.” He sat up and swept a hand through his hair.

The lights outside his window into the pool courtyard were comforting at least, illuminating the room. He rolled over and imagined the kids, splashing in the pool, and wondered how that would have felt when he was five or six. He would have loved to have a pool.

When he’d looked at the apartment, it had been because the rent in the listing was in line with what he could afford, and it actually boasted a laundry hookup in the unit. It was a testament to how much he hated to have to go out to do laundry that it was a must-have on his list, but in the end, that wasn’t what made him sign the lease.